Kneeling at the hotel reception Violin a-sobbing on his knee Twenty bright rozellas on his shoulder Coin from a wealthy Ceylonese Hungry people hangin’ on the corner Other people cruisin’ by in cars Feeding on the fiction and the porno Staring at the tattoos and the scars

Conversations, Conversations Icy nights and almighty patience

Well some of us are driven to ambition Some of us are trapped behind the wheel Some of us will break away, and build a marble yesterday And live for every moment we can steal

Conversations, Conversations Shouting out across an empty station

Now it’s just another Tuesday morning Billy’s wrapped up tight against the chill The busker packs his birds beneath the awning Billy’s got his eyes upon the till He could get a ticket out of here from a local easy lawyer The busker’s halfway home, Billy’s lounging round the foyer Love so easily dies when there’s nothing left to conquer One small break is all he needs, and life ain’t getting longer

The morning breeze is off and gone The winding factory streets are clean Old ladies put the kettle on And all-night lechers pause and lean On grey shop windows, everywhere A deeper hum is in the air Hotel room, drifter leaves no clues

He rides a freight-train out of town And whistles at the icy rime The cattle float like thistle-downs And God is on the edge of time Somewhere behind a siren wails The freight-train soars above the rails The traveller, he’s hard as nails As the train sweeps down the line

The salmon Season’s here to stay And etched into each shoulder-bone The mark of Cain is on display As stone above each measured stone Old Dresden burns above the breeze The traveller, he’s on his knees He’s watching sledge-wings dip and play So far above the holy throne Dresden blues . . .

Open up the door Astrid, cause I’m comin’ down the stairs And I ain’t gonna listen to no more pissin’ around I’ve had seven long years of give a little, take a little Stack a little money away And you better believe I’m gonna take this love to town

Turn on the tears Astrid, and don’t forget to let the neighbours see What a low down deal you got when you married me You can drown your days in valium and brandy Talkin’ to the cat and the dog And you can shove your cheap french vogue society

Goodbye, goodbye . . . I won’t be comin’ back for long

Open up the door Astrid, and don’t try to stand in my way I’m heading for a long long night to a better day And don’t bother offering to drive me to the station You’d only drive me round the bend We’re comin’ to the end, there’s nothin’ left to say

No copulation, no revolution Said the young Marquis de Sade But all the whips in France ain’t gonna get me Fuckin’ on a barracade From the schoolboys on it was one big con As we hung around the hockey teams In each boys brain the dream was the same All I ever went to do is get laid

Now the whole wide world has a better idea And it shook us all to the core You follow some two-year fairy tale Into happy evermore The sleepy priest at the bridal feast His hands make a holy sign And as the bride hoes into the wedding cake She’s a-singin’ in the back of her mind

Come on, come on I’m gonna roll ya all night long . . .

Well I took that crap for a little while And it kept me off the street Then I met me a lady with a shady past And manners like a dog on heat Those musos hummin’ when they see her comin’ Make a noise like a hurricane When you see that line at the dressing-room door You know she’s just spread ‘em for the boys again

Well there ain’t nothin’ better than to rip your sweater In a bang behind the stage Or the drawn out sigh as you feel her thigh Then you stop and estimate her age If she’s turned fourteen she’s a rock’n’roll queen You can give her anything you choose And when she whispers Honey it’s the money or the box You know money’s so easy to lose

I cried my tears in a glass of tequila For a truck-stop honey with a dubious name She held my heart like a blackjack dealer And took my money when she left the game She was overly fond of sophisticated messin’ around I’ve had a bellyful of livin’ in the same old merry-go-round

Well I played in the summer and I froze in the winter And I hankered for the high school beauty queen She was married to a rich young timber-miller And christened a boy when she was just nineteen Crazy love, never gonna settle down I’ve had a bellyful of lovin’ on the same old merry-go-round

Like any man I’ve got to work for a living Just to earn my soul for a weekend show Saturday morning I’ll be down by the river Getting whipped at the Copmanhurst rodeo When the weekend comes I’m gonna set fire to the town I’ve had a bellyful of workin’ on the same old merry-go-round

I’m looking out as the sun goes down Drinking Bundeburg at the end of the day I’m twentyfive, I’m half alive The rest is only just a ticket away Give me a ticket, take me to a city hotel I’ve had a bellyful of livin’ on the same old merry-go-round

Hammer down the open road Steel pigs my only load Country songs are always playin’ He’s a goin’, she’s a staying Briquets keep the fires burning Diesel keeps the wheels turning Hikers on the edge of town Start off young and end up learning

Showtime Hang a guitar on my shoulder Check the vacant drooling faces round the room Another heartbreak battle And I’m only getting older Jesus help me when I say I’ll give it all up pretty soon Daytime Time to fight the morning’s headache Gulp an aspirin bang together one more song Inspiration cauterised By years of useeless heartache Every shallow nights reaction sounding twisted up and wrong

These last years Years gone down to the showtime

Showtime Try to catch the spark That got me hooked so many years ago and died Second-rate musicians Feeding infantile illusions Reading music magazines to keep the habit satisfied Pitching To some demographic average What the hell he’s staying home for, I don’t see him here tonight Thirteen years and over Tuned to radio between the hours Of six and seven-thirty, AM programmer’s delight

These last years Years gone down to the showtime

I never knew it could be So misleading Waiting for the final song to end In this dirty nightclub All the souls are bleeding Reaching for the big decision Disco floor or television Time and time again You hear the so-called friends The smug de-facto critics in their movie backdrop cities Sneering sitdown and listen Life’s a lonely escalator It’s a fool who doesn’t know he has to leap off at the end Well they were never at the guesthouse With the ghost of Jimmy Rodgers Watching Townsville sugar sunsets back in 1959 And they’ll all be gone when the end is come And I’m kneeling in the backroom Crying Lord I’m just a trouper, let me play it one more time

Baby baby The telephone’s ringin’ again What do I say, are you home this time There’s somebody askin’ on the telephone line

Baby baby You know it’s getting me down The Fatman called, left no message They get so heavy when you’re not around

Did you see how many, were they driving a truck Did they come on mean, did you push your luck Did they offer you a summons, did they offer you a fag Were they lookin’ for the money for the sugar bag

Hostile city Running out the door again Pulled a big escape along Broadway The man came calling seven times today

Keep on running Keep on moving around Gotto get away by the break of day If you relax they’re gonna pin you down

You’ve been hangin’ down on Dixon Street Eating Chinese chicken when it’s time to eat Spending time on the underground When you relax they’re gonna pin you down

Wake up baby I want you to hold me now It’s 3 a.m., time of night when Robbers prowl Give me your hand You know I could not be sure Oh baby there it goes again There’s somebody knockin’ on the kitchen door . . .